


If only

by Ditricha



Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: Drama, Multi, Other Background Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ditricha/pseuds/Ditricha
Summary: But since then, the idea had been firmly seeded in him, and thinking about it, he wanted to give in more and more and allow himself to be tempted by it.
Relationships: Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	If only

**Author's Note:**

> Last summer someone joked on Jovi forum that Richie had been secretly in Nashville studio in spring. That's why we didn't hear about any new updates on Richie's next solo album for some time, and Bon Jovi crew stopped uploading videos like "day 1, song 1" since Richie had been there on some days and it shouldn't be known in case they simply wouldn't get it going again. It's also the true reason why Phil X joked on Twitter that he didn't know whether his guitar parts for the new band record wouldn't be cut. Then during the first part of the European tour, Jon realized it's too taxing for him to tour with the current line-up, that was received poorly (especially, in Scandinavia), and organized an urgent meetup with Richie in the one week break during which they decided to try to do a few songs together again to see how it'd go. The uncertainty of the whole situation also caused more stress on Jon and triggered his vocal decline in the second part of the tour. Phil X started feeling that something was wrong, so Jon kept repeating during shows that he'd stay with the band until the end.  
> Although it was all nonsense, especially chronological-wise, some of us, hopeful optimists, readily believed it for a second. Then I joked that it was almost a ready-made plot for a fic and promised to write it someday. It took me a year, but finally it's here.
> 
> I especially want to thank redpenfics for her red pen and just everything <3

It was Dorothea who initially introduced that idea. A casually mentioned suggestion, “I must say, I wish you hadn’t fallen out then. Maybe you should give each other a third chance?” while her husband was boringly telling her about the recording process of the new album on the phone. In the studio, Jon constantly tried to show motivation and passion during the recording sessions and encouraged everyone to climb another mountain, but the phony enthusiasm usually disappeared after the second glass of wine in the evenings.  
“You mean Sambora?”  
“Yeah. Are you moping about because you’re missing someone else?”  
“I’m afraid, too much water has flowed under the bridge… Heard he’s working on a new solo album again. Well, remember how it ended the last time.” He didn’t want to start talking about Richie. He already spent too much time with his shrink working through the problem that their relationship had become. Jon was too tired of that reflection. Again and again… Using Richie's name in the promotion of THINFS was a mistake. He wanted to finally move on and find a relative peace, and avoiding the subject sometimes worked for him. He didn’t want to start thinking about the man and remembering their times together; to get over and back to grieving; to analyze past fights again and again only to come to regrets and remorse. In later years, they had been unhappy together, but without Richie it turned out to be worse. “And I ain’t moping.”  
“Sure?” A rhetorical question implied unsubtle _John Francis Bongiovi, who are you trying to kid? I’ve known you for 40 years, honey._ “Good for him. In Cleveland, it seemed that he left the door open for the opportunity of working with you again. Although, it was almost a year ago...”  
“Maybe you better tell me about Jake and Romeo and how’s school going.” He needed to quickly change the topic until he agreed with the part about moping. In recent years, it happened sooner rather than later when he drank alone. “I’ll try to make it on his birthday…”  
“You’d better try.”  
“…but can you be the one who asks him about the present, okay?”

But since then, the idea had been firmly seeded in him, and, thinking about it, he wanted to give in more and more and allow himself to be tempted by it. He knew there was nothing to be afraid of because it’s a good old Richie, but for whatever reason, he took his time and postponed the conversation. What if it wasn’t going to work? He stuck to the principle that one should overlook the fears and try; it was the only way to achieve something. But dismissed doubts persisted and poisoned his mind. What if Richie wouldn’t even listen to an offer? Jon wished he could get his assistant, Hugh, Dot — after all, it was her idea — to call him. However, he really couldn’t because it was only about the two of them.  
Hugh… Of course, Jon always made sure to be discreet and looked extremely disinterested, starting an “accidental” talk with McDonald to find out the latest news about Richie. Hugh stayed in the best relationship with him after that accursed 2013, and he knew how to keep his mouth shut; the thing that Jon shamelessly took advantage of from time to time. He considered the option of sending Steph to Ava but decided he wasn’t that desperate. Girls continued to text now and then, but his daughter came in second to Dot in momentary recognition of his awkward and suspicious manipulations.  
The latest news was that Richie was doing well. Happy, sober, spending a lot of time with Ava, leisurely writing songs for a solo album and generally enjoying his life. He even started to date a mature woman, which sincerely surprised Jon, given the age of his friend’s former girlfriends. His ex-friend. Or not? Damn.  
Days turned into weeks, and he was still doubtful and chickening out.

Jon knew very well that the recording of THINFS album had been fairly smooth, if one may say so because he simply didn’t think far ahead. The main goal was to prove himself and to show those morons, who had already been ready to bury the band, his resilience without Richie, and he proved that when the record had taken the first place in the top album sales chart. There wasn’t any further long-term plan, and now the sense of wrongness and the feeling that things were going astray increased and haunted him after every band meeting.  
He hated himself for the obnoxious nostalgia for the times when Richie would stay at his guest house, and they would lock themselves in the home studio for days to write songs. Or when they would go on creative journeys to the islands together where no one could find or disturb them.  
And at one point, he broke down and sent ‘Why don’t you come here?’ A comparably short response ‘Can’t rn’ came the next day, and Jon was barely able to restrain himself from sending ‘I know’ because he wasn’t some fucking stalker.  
After a week, a message ‘Where?’ was displayed on the phone screen just as suddenly. It seemed, at that moment his therapist just hit another jackpot.

***

Before Richie’s arrival, Jon had an emergency meeting where he firmly announced to the band and studio personnel that no one could know that Richie was coming. In case things wouldn’t work out between them. Not even one random photo — Jon gave a stink eye to David and John Shanks. No vague, obscure tweets — to Phil. The silent question was left hanging in the air: what the hell did that mean? That fickleness of their boss who had been speaking to a camera until recently that he, well, all of them, were done with the former guitarist, and his renewed band was the coolest thing in the world; but no one dared to voice it. Even Phil already understood there was something special about Jon Bon Jovi’s relationship with Richie Sambora that he would probably never get. Something more than a long-standing songwriting partnership or brotherhood which was similar to the one he shared with Tico and Dave that made him an exception. Nor was Phil a fool, and when asked by a fan on Twitter about the new Bon Jovi album and his part in the studio recordings, he semi-jokingly and semi-seriously replied that he didn’t know whether his parts would be later cut or not.

As in the previous year, at the beginning of the first rehearsal for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, the moment Jon walked through a studio door with Richie Sambora, everybody couldn’t help going completely silent.  
“Hey, guys! Long time no see, how are you doin’?” Richie casually greeted them, and everybody began to welcome him back as if his hello had broken the spell of silence. The tension never went away, but if one really tried, he could pretend those six years in between didn’t exist.  
Like last year, Phil was watching Jon, whose thoughtful gaze slid and lingered on Richie and couldn’t read it. He looked at Richie who was looking back at Jon and wondered if he maybe imagined the unclear sadness mixed with wistful tenderness in his eyes. At times like that, Phil felt he was peeking through a keyhole and witnessed signs that weren’t addressed to him; that he shouldn’t be there; that he was the third wheel. He glanced at Tico who nodded his head in understanding. It was tempting to ask if they were aware of what was happening, what the heck was going on here, but Phil wasn’t sure he wanted and was allowed to know.

Over the next few days, they rehearsed, and he met Richie only in the studio. His presence was unusual and seemed strange. The first day, Sambora tried the THINFS guitar parts, his and Shanks’. It was a bit upsetting because they were _his_ parts, but at the same time that was fair – Phil had played other people’s songs for many years too. Everyone knew modern-day Jon Bon Jovi sounded dreadful; it was a strict unspoken rule not to discuss the topic in front of him. Richie’s voice was also damaged due to years of alcohol abuse and far from once rich strong baritone. Yet for some reason, it were his backing vocals that saved and still naturally harmonized with Jon’s voice, and familiar songs started to sound a little different. Phil suspected it was because of life-long habit, intuition and knowing _his vocalist_ like the back of his hand. And as two of them sang together, he could observe those tiny glimpses of the magic they used to have in their old songs. Like Simon and Garfunkel, Lennon and McCartney. Something absolutely unique and just theirs.

On the second day, they played the new material, and on the third one, Phil was late and caught the two of them talking in low voices at the end of the hall. He noticed that Richie was displeased and seemed upset about something, while Jon was busily trying to explain things to him. When Jon put a hand on his shoulder Richie hesitated for a second, but after hearing the following words brushed it off and exclaimed:  
“God, Jon, even the grave won’t redeem you! I thought you’ve understood… and you…” He turned around, for a moment, both men’s faces expressed nothing but sorrow. When he got the sight of Phil, Richie smiled, asked how his evening was, hopefully, better than his own; and not even trying to hide the undertone of sarcasm, which was clearly a jab at Jon, not intended for him. Jon just ground out a grumpy comment about being late and passed them by, saying they’d better bring their asses to the studio in five minutes.  
For the rest of the day, Jon avoided direct eye contact with Richie and criticized him all the time, but who in turn ignored all claims and pretended to be very interested in chatting with John Shanks. During the break, they again disappeared somewhere together.  
“It…it’s not our business,” Shanks interrupted when Phil verbalized his confusions over a beer later.  
“Man, how do you even work with them?!”  
“They… When I produced the band’s songs for the first time, they were already like that.” John smirked, carefully selecting words, and looked like a child with flashing eyes who accidentally found out an adult secret and was happy to touch the world that didn’t belong to him yet.  
The next morning, Richie Sambora left. Sleepy, melancholic Jon made them re-record the dullest of the already recorded songs for several times, constantly being unsatisfied with the results. Finally, he gave in and showed an even duller new song, which he and Richie apparently had written on their sleepless night. Phil thought that if it was The Drills song, it could be called Drown Me in Wine.

The last few days passed by calmly without any incidents. On the final day, just before wrapping it up, Jon yelled what son of a bitch had posted a studio photo, in which he stayed next to Richie with his back to the camera, as that was what he had specifically told everyone not to do. Phil, rather perplexed, tried to think of all the photos he had recently seen on Instagram, he looked through them sometimes, but he couldn’t remember anything matching the description. Then Jon reached for his phone and angrily showed them an offensive picture.  
“But that’s just a knee…” at last, David said what was on everyone’s mind.  
“No! This isn’t just a knee like you say. This is direct evidence that Richie was here! Look at all those _likes_. If we delete it now, it’ll surely pop up somewhere else. Whoever has posted it, should have asked me first!”  
“Jon, that’s a fucking knee, relax. I wouldn’t have guessed if you didn’t tell me. What kind of a person tracks the location by knees! Who even recognizes it except you?”  
Back at home, Phil complained to his wife that all this time he had felt like a third wheel on the edge of a volcano. He wondered whether Dave, Tico and Hugh also had this feeling. And he knew it was awful to say, but he was glad that the experiment, whatever it was, seemed to be over.

***

Jon called for group rehearsals two more times, in New York in April and in New Jersey in May. Richie never showed up at them, but they kept texting and Jon was happy. He felt there was a chance they may have a future again. Actually, that spring seemed to be one of the best in his life. He and Dorothea celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary by taking a trip to Paris, and Jon once again thanked God for giving him the best and most understanding woman that he could ever hope for. This newfound optimism couldn’t go away even with a little fight in Nashville. They secretly met each other in hotels, talked a lot, and discussed music. This reminded him of the times of secret meetings in their youth when Richie was ready to fly half way around the world after one call, that Jon had some song ideas to work on. In extremely rare cases – just wanting to see him. And as they got older, priorities shifted, there were too many new people, too many other responsibilities, and the old need gradually started to die. It was nice to revive the past for a while.

***

“You sound like shit,” Richie casually started a conversation one day.  
“I know,” Jon sighed deeply, pursing his lips. Richie sighed in response, and it was all there in that one sigh. He knew Jon well enough not to experience illusions that his friend was in self-denial. Long enough to know his pride would never allow him to publicly discuss the problem. He could develop business strategies to the last detail far ahead but at the same time tended to speak first and think later in his personal life. Often being sorry when it was too late. Richie still loved him madly and if it was in his power, he would give his own voice to Jon.  
With certain sadness, he watched Jon glow with happiness and describe a possible brave new world they could build if continued in the same vein as now. Of course, no more long-running tours and excessive, undefined working hours in the studio, freedom to do side projects and it goes without saying that family comes first. Maybe they should give it a shot and record an acoustic album as a duet? Or play a reunion band record card to the label and fans? Besides, they could have both. And was Richie sure he didn't want to address politics in songs? Jon believed that was more relevant than ever – and he wanted a serious, timely and r e l e v a n t album. He had so many ideas!  
Richie also knew that Jon was never able to stop and slow down when the time came.

***

When Phil, bursting with childish pride, shared the freshly released The Drills single with everyone in the studio, Jon listened to it along with the others, pretended to be fascinated by it and asked to give him a copy of the album later too. He showed a polite interest in Dave's new musical and didn’t forget to drop Richie a line, asking about the recording of his solo album. All because he was a wise leader who supported his musicians in their outside artistic interests and needs, and not a dictator who respected self-interest above all. Maybe sometimes. Okay, often. But he knew how to learn from his mistakes, didn’t he?

Jon got so high from his plans for their further multifaceted relationship that he took the comparatively poor reception by the Scandinavian audience at the beginning of the tour for the rejection of the new band line-up. If it wasn’t for his pride, he would have contacted Richie right after Cleveland. But Jon hated the idea of showing weakness and being dependent on others, so he was quite satisfied with the current resolving of their situation. They discussed the possibility to meet in Europe in late June or early July to try writing a couple of new songs together again in between touring. This idea was given up, however, due to the difficulty of reconciling their schedules and when Jon remembered that he had already planned a family vacation in Croatia around that time.  
He tried to negotiate with Dorothea a way of leaving her and children on the yacht a few days earlier. Dot observed her husband’s impatient, joyful excitement, his wandering thoughts, and once again agreed to let him go after Richie. She always knew what she was signing up for by saying ‘yes’. And now, it made her heart hurt as she had an inkling of what would happen next, but she was still ready to let things sort themselves out because an unclosed gestalt wouldn’t give anyone peace.  
Richie refused to come. Then they decided to postpone the meeting until August.  
It seemed to Jon that he started to sound worse in the second half of the tour, after the break and rest, due to the uncertainty of the present moment and living in the future; his thoughts were already circling around August. On top of that, Phil began acting strangely both off and on stage. So Jon calmly and confidently said it out loud in front of tens of thousands of fans that the new guitarist would be with the band until its end. If there was one thing he could do perfectly and never lose, it was the ability to lie and tell the right words at the right time.

For the rest of the European tour, Jon cherished the hope, which sunk deep into his heart that they probably might become _them_ again. There had been enough time to forget and put aside hard feelings and fights of bygone days, so he recalled and held onto good memories more and more often, leaving the bad ones behind. They had spent half of their lives together. They had shared one another's joy and sorrow, happiness and the suffering so many times as if they were married. After all, they had been through so much together: crazy youth, artistic ups and downs, common businesses, marriages and divorces. Yes, they were no longer naïve boys who lived with their parents and were trying to write a hit in Richie’s parents' basement next to the washing machine. But was it really all over between them? Was it over for their feelings for each other? Jon knew Richie had thought about that too, back in Cleveland, when they were singing _When We Were Us_ into one microphone together. When they had gone to lunch before the rehearsal, just the two of them. When they had wrapped their arms around each other a little too close, affectionately, and longer than was expected from old friends after staying a long time apart. When Richie had hesitated before kissing him goodbye after the induction ceremony, their lips touched in the barest whisper, and Jon gave in to deepen an almost chaste kiss.

In Spain, they wrote songs with two acoustic guitars, being locked in one room like in the good old days. Richie could still read his lips before the words actually left them. For some reason, Jon was worried it would go away. At some point, they moved into the bathroom, and Jon thought with a smile about how Richie was proud of his California bathroom’s excellent acoustics. He remembered how many times he had come on wall tiles after finishing the songwriting session, trying to hold in his moans and be quiet. Because Sambora was damn proud of the acoustics and loved it when he was loud. Jon usually didn’t mind, but this idiot used to have that smug look on his face afterwards, so Jon continued to be stubborn, just because. They couldn’t even the score and never had a draw. When he won, Richie's smugness always doubled, although one would think it couldn't get any bigger.  
The hotel bath couldn’t boast of spaciousness, though there was a jacuzzi, and also suffered from poor soundproofing. A thing that Jon learned to notice out of the habit over the years. He wondered what would happen next, now, but predictably, nothing happened. Richie kept playing around with chord progressions, focused on trying to determine the best one to match a vocal melody. Occasionally, he joked with moderate success when he saw his friend started to think too much about something and withdrew into himself. Jon couldn’t help but break into a little smile every time. Some things didn’t change.  
“Guess, I’m done for today. Do you know if they have an in-room early breakfast?” Richie got off the floor and began to stretch out after a long sitting.  
“What? We're only just getting started.”  
“You may be starting, but I’ve already finished,” Richie laughed. “Jonny, hold your horses, we ain’t gonna write an album in one sleepless night. It’s 6 a.m., for God's sake. We’re old and need sleep,” Jon opened his mouth to make an argument that Richie might consider himself a pensioner, but he was still full of energy and not that old to keep up the old pace, but Richie’s voice cut him off. “You need to get some sleep. You look terrible, man, like you haven’t slept for ages. Besides, I promised to video call Ava on Skype in the evening.”  
“Okay. Good. As for the first day, it wasn’t so bad. You call Ava, I'll call Dot, and then let’s eat together,” Jon compromisingly agreed because the family came first and no more workaholism, yes.  
After breakfast they shared a bed like in the good old days, Richie on the right, Jon on the left, and turned back to back and far apart – in a new way.

One day Jon couldn’t stand it, turned around and bored into his friend's back.  
“Well, and how long is this gonna go?” His question was demanding because he felt that something was wrong. While things seemed to be good between them, he knew that something continued to escape him, and that was annoying.  
“Not until you see and accept it.”  
“See what?”  
“It doesn’t work anymore.” The reply felt so strained that it became the last straw.  
“Why? We’re writing songs again – like before. Together again – almost like we used to. At night I think about that one time when we broke the bed in that luxurious hotel, what a crazy night it was. Now you don’t want me anymore, and I understand…now I’m old and grey, and no longer good-looking. But that’s okay, I'll be fine with memories and just being around you. Although sometimes, you know, I miss…miss being intimate with you… But don't worry, I'll roll with it. And if you don’t want political songs, that’s also fine, will write them with Shanks or Falcon. And you and I, we can write about other stuff. I know that I’m close to writing the album, which next generations will truly love! And if you help me…”  
“Jon, no, stop! You’ve got nothing more to prove. Don't you understand? But you don’t, you can't help yourself… We…you’ve already accomplished everything you've ever dreamed of and more. We’ve already gone down in music history and found our place in pop-culture for posterity. So accept it. Accept that you can’t sing anymore. I don’t wanna find out someday in the evening news that you killed yourself on stage. And how could you even think that I don’t want you. You should know that you’ll always be the most beautiful person to me, no matter how old you are: 20 or 80. But you’ve changed, and sometimes I don’t recognize the new you, who’s so focused on calculating an estimated income from touring and spends weekends with his politician friends, that funny moody kid with whom I could share a joint and indulge in carefree and silly songwriting just for fun… The kid who was hungry for music that would resonate deeply with people’s hearts and not with the front pages of newspapers. The bright-eyed kid that I instantly fell in love with and kept loving him, even when he hurt me. And will always love him no matter what shit he makes up in his stupid head. And, honestly, I can't blame you: we are who we are… I knew that from the first day we met… But it's time to stop. I'll always be there for you but I have my own family that needs me, Ava needs me. God knows how many years we have left, and I don’t wanna spend them with Shanks who’s become even more unbearable over the years. Because that's the way you want it and feel more comfortable. I also want to feel comfortable, you know, I think I deserve it. So it's never going to be like it was, Jon. Just accept it and please stop. We passed the point of no return a long time ago...”  
In the ensuing silence, Jon heard the horrible crashing sound of his dreams being destroyed; dreams that had flourished in recent months being shattered to pieces. He knew that Richie was right. Right to blame him for the inability to face up and accept the changes. For getting caught up and forgetting other people's interests. Now Jon saw what Richie was trying to tell him all this time. Not wanting to upset him, he had been waiting patiently for him until he figured that part out on his own. And he, as always, realized it when it was too late. Jon noticed Richie fidgeting, so reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. It was a night out, but Jon could see in his glistening eyes that his friend was silently crying in the darkness.

***

Richie slowly released his hand and gently stroked Jon's cheek, trying to remember every new wrinkle that had appeared on his face in the past few years. He caressed his cheek like ages ago in another life Jon himself had touched him in front of thousands unsuspecting fans on stage or in the minutes of their intimacy within the four walls of their room. Richie remembered the last time he congratulated him on his birthday during their concert when Jon vigorously ignored his birthday greetings several times because they had had a row before going on stage, though condescendingly patted his cheek in the end. And Richie hoped Jon realized that he wasn’t taking revenge on him with this gesture of tenderness now.  
“Maybe a farewell tour then?” It wasn't until the end of the question that Jon’s voice broke slightly.  
“Maybe Jonny, maybe.” Richie’s eyes no longer smiled, they looked tired, sad and just as dull as his voice. He could see that as much Jon wanted to accuse him that after all of these years together he expected otherwise, and now he was surprised and disappointed, Jon knew. Deep down, he also knew that despite all their efforts, no matter how much they pretended, no man was rich enough to buy back his past and it was never going to be like it was before again.  
Oh, if only they could go back to yesterday…


End file.
